Wounds
by PhoenixStargirl
Summary: POST MOCKINGJAY. Peeta knows both he and Katniss have wounds that will never heal without each other. Spoiler alert. Rated T for possible future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Hunger Games does not belong to me, neither do any of the characters, or the storyline. This is just a little fanfic that I wrote following Mockingjay. Enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Wounds<strong>

There was no reason for me to be thinking about the Hunger Games again. It had been years since the capital had been taken down and the surviving Tributes of District 12 had been left to their own lives. Still, I couldn't take my mind off of those two years that had changed the lives of our world.

My mind wandered again, back to that first reaping day, when Primrose was called forward by Effie in her horridly shocking pink attire. I had felt a sorrow fill my heart, because of Katniss. I had watched her for years, wanting to protect her from anything. But the reaping was not something I could protect her from—and watching her sister being forced to an arena where she had little to no chance of survival was going to be pain for her. A pain I couldn't ease.

But Katniss's voice pierced the silence like one of her arrows, she was going in to protect her sister. My heart had stopped for only a moment before pounding away like one of the mine machines. Never had I ever seen such bravery and valor before. Her fear showed only once before it melted behind a wall of stone and determination. She had to come home… she had to be protected.

My mind had wandered away for a mere moment, thinking hard of how I could protect her. Perhaps a negotiation with the male tribute? Yes. That was the only way. I would ask the male tribute to keep an eye on Katniss for as long as possible to ensure her safe return home. But what could I bargain life with? The security of the tributes family. I could make sure they stayed well fed. It was an offer my parents wouldn't like, but one I would make sure was carried through. My mind had been so focused on the plan that I had nearly missed my name being called out.

I was then that the memory started to take a new form to it. I had glanced up to see Katniss leering at me, seducing me to join her at the podium. Katniss wanted to destroy my life… Katniss wanted to destroy the capital… I gripped tightly to the arms of the chair I was sitting in, holding on to my grip on reality before it could slip away from me, before the reality President Snow put in my head took over and made me destroy what little we had here.

It was then I felt a pair of arms wrap around me in a gentle yet needing embrace. It was an embrace I had experienced all too well from the giving and receiving end. Her perfume crawled through the room. I took several deep breaths, fighting all false urges that were rushing within me. There was one thing I knew would calm me down, even though I well knew the answer.

"You love me. Real or not real?"

I could almost feel her smile behind me and her hug tighten. "Real." My muscles relaxed a bit more until I no long felt any foreign urge surgically implanted in my brain, attempting to rob me of what sanity I had. I smiled to myself and released my cemented grip on the chair. "We are safe from the world. Real or not real?"

I frowned at her question and turned to her. "Real," I whispered, running my hand along her cheek, brushing away stray strands of her brown hair. Despite the fact the Hunger Games were no longer a part of our world I knew whatever came, revolution or Armageddon, I would be there to protect her as I always would be. I held her closer and closed my eyes.

"Marry me?"

I'm not sure how much time had passed before she moved away, out of my arms. It was only a matter of time before I proposed, for real. Even Katniss Everdeen could not pretend that someday she wouldn't be asked this simple and complicated question. It was a question that I expected a negative response from, but feeling her pull away and seeing her confused look still hurt just as much.

"Peeta…" I could see the cogs turning in her head. She answer wasn't necessarily no, but she was still trying to find a way from answering the question. "You know how I feel about the subject."

I nodded, trying not to let my disappointment show, but she knew me far better than that. We were different in the respect that she didn't want children, and I did. But we both had wounds that would never heal, wounds that only each other could fill. Though we were together here in District 12, practically alone, there was still something about her being my wife that would connect us together in ways we could never be elsewise.

I took her lack of answer as a rain check and turned, moving silently out the back door, careful not to slam the door shut. I didn't want her to think that her answer had upset me. I had waited this long for her to return what love I had to offer the beautiful flower that she was. I could stand waiting a little while longer for her answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Hunger Games does not belong to me, neither do any of the characters, or the storyline. This is just a little fanfic that I wrote following Mockingjay. Enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Wounds<strong>

As I left the house the sky was dark and the air hazy. Distant thunder groaned in a warning of the forthcoming storm. Approximately an hour would pass before we would be caught in dreary downpour. My mind was still locked on the idea of being put off in the most pleasant way possible. And the more I dwelled upon it, the more I felt rejected. It was almost as bad as when we were back in the Hunger Games, and I let myself be caught up in the moment of Katniss's need for survival.

The images slowly began to surface and I knew it wouldn't be long before those images that the Capital put in my head would return. What was it I had said to Katniss so long ago on the rooftop? I had to find a way to still be me? For the Capital to not own me? Despite everything we had done, and everything we had achieved—in spite of the success of the revolution and President's Snow's murder, they still had control over me. They still owned me. An anger began to pulse its way through my veins. None of this would have happened if Katniss had just won the 74th Hunger Games, and let him die. She had to play along. She had to force him to trick the Capital. She wanted the rebellion. She wanted them to control him like this.

The impulse of adrenaline took over and I couldn't simply stand in the yard any longer. I sprinted as fast as I possibly could toward the fence, crawled over and to the woods. If I ran fast enough, maybe I could outrun the lies that were seared into my memory.

I paid no attention to which path I took, or if there was a path at all. I made no attempt to mark where I had been so I could easily find my way back. The need for solitude, to be alone was far too overwhelming. It would only take one bad memory, one impulse, to lose what strength I had and reach for Katniss's throat once again. The simple thought of that memory, which I knew was real enough made my eyes burn with hatred. Hatred for the Capital and what they had done to us. Hatred for putting us through the Hunger Games. I didn't try to imagine what would have come if the rebellion had failed once again. The small spark of rebellion caused by Katniss's actions forced her back into the arena once again—a thought that ripped at my insides when I realized what was happening. It ripped at my insides still whenever I thought about it.

I didn't stop until I knew I had reached a far section of the woods, a part of them I had never seen before. I stopped, my breathing heavy enough that it was beginning to weigh me down. I collapsed upon a log and bowed my head, closing my eyes and taking in the darkness, hoping to calm myself. But that simple gesture simply brought back a memory of the Hunger Games.

I was back with the Careers, and we were hunting Katniss. Well, they were, I was keeping tabs upon them in order to keep her alive. But unfortunately I had no idea where she had gone. I was walking until I found a wounded girl. I couldn't remember at that moment what District she had come from, but she was a liability. If she stayed alive, none of the other Careers would trust him, and they would know when she died due to the Cannon. And leaving her alive would just be leaving her at the mercy of some other Career, the wilderness, or even the makers of the Hunger Games.

I pulled a knife from my belt and gracefully pulled her head back, before running the blade along her neck. The sounds of her death caught my ears, and I could feel her warm blood pool onto my hands. She didn't understand I was doing her a favor with this gentle and quick death. I didn't look at her face, for fear of seeing her pleading eyes, and for a moment seeing Katniss's face in place of her own. I would never even know her name.

I opened my eyes, releasing myself from that memory. Luckily the Capital's curse had not attempted to control his thoughts. I looked down at my hands, still imagining the blood that was upon them. I had killed during the Hunger Games, and every time I tried to justify it, I still could see the remnants of the blood forever stained on my flesh. Even the thought of killing the girl through nightlock still haunted me.

The clicking of rain hitting the leaves before falling in sheets to the ground steadily grew into a wave. The cool water coated my hair and clothes, and within minutes they were sticking to my skin like a film. Just being in the woods was a reminder to the 74th Hunger Games. But somehow, the memories were clearer here than when I was elsewhere.

I lifted my head to the canopy letting the rain wash my face clean of any lingering anxiety and emotions that had built up since I left Katniss's house. I took in the fresh air deeply. Everything about these woods were clean and pure, unlike the woods of the arena. It was as though the authenticity of the location was clearing any sort of implanted thought. Being here, in nature, where everything was pure, was a heaven. Perhaps that was why Katniss loved hunting so much—everything was natural and untouched by man and their doings.

I stood up and glanced around through the haze of the rain. The twigs and mud beneath my feet made no sound over the downpour. In this weather I would not be able to find my way back as easily, but I had to try. I had no idea how long this would last, but it wasn't about to be the death of me. I had experienced enough death to last me several lifetimes.

I was much slower coming back through the brush and thickets than I had going in, and by the time the downpour had slowed to a steady and graceful rain, it had grown much darker outside. Hours must have passed since I left Katniss. No doubt she was worried, or at least gone to warn Haymitch. Just as I had anticipated, when I came up to my house, Haymitch was there on my porch, bottle of spirits in hand and staring at me with a look I knew was chastising. I had seen it plenty of times from my own parents when I came in late, young and naïve. Only he wasn't drunk.

"She's worried, you know."

I said nothing but walked past him, trailing mud and muck up the stairs and into the hall. I took off my shirt and shoes and headed up the stairs ignoring the still open door and Haymitch following my every move.

"I've only seen her like that twice before."

"When?" I grabbed a towel from inside the bathroom and began drying the mop that was my hair.

Haymitch casually leaned against the doorframe, with a critical eye. I stopped drying my hair for a moment, making sure he knew he had my full attention. There were very few times Haymitch acted this way, and always it was because of something gravely important. I tossed the towel to the ground and waited for him to say something. "When you died in the clock arena."

That was something I did not remember fully. I remembered being electrocuted, and when I woke up Katniss was hysterical and hugging me. Whatever happened in between those two moments was blackness. Clearly Haymitch had witnessed, or knew of something I did not. "And the second?"

Haymitch said nothing, but that lack of reply was an answer in itself. It was when I was rescued from the Capital, and clearly wanted to kill her. I nodded and grabbed the towel again, just to be holding onto something while I pushed the memory from my head. It was too painful to recall right now.

"I asked her to marry me, Haymitch."

Haymitch raised his eyebrows and pulled up from his position. Now I had his full attention. "And she said…?"

I shook my head, pushing past him to the hallway. "She said nothing." At least, nothing that was a reply worth repeating. I didn't want to go into a political debate over this with Haymitch—I had had enough politics in my life. I went to my bedroom and closed the door. I could hear Haymitch lingering in the hall for a moment before leaving. No doubt he was going to let Katniss know I wasn't dead, that I needed to be alone for at least an hour, before going back to his drinking.

I changed out of my drenched pants and into something more comfortable before laying down on my bed, staring up at the blank ceiling and listening to the rain pattering the rooftop. It wasn't the same sounds as his old home, but he didn't mind. The old home and bakery reminded him too much of his family that he had lost. Although he had not been as close as Katniss's family had been, it still hurt to remember such things.

The rain sang a lullaby that drifted me off to sleep. I didn't dream of memories, and I didn't have any nightmares. Instead my dreams were of Katniss. Moments of our lives pushed forward: she was in one of her beautiful white wedding gowns, then of her and our children. It moved forward our families grew up happy and unafraid, unlike the childhood the two of us had possessed.

I awoke silently, the rain no longer pattering above, but I did not move. My dream was the future I wanted with Katniss.


End file.
